And This Is My Beloved
by Thyme In Her Eyes
Summary: The story doubles back, and perhaps this is the moment of her fall, but it's also all she's ever known of grace. Rue x Mytho.


And This Is My Beloved

by Thyme In Her Eyes

_Dedicated to Marianne, with love. Thanks for everything!_

_Author's Note: _I'm back with some more Mytho/Rue goodness, set during Episode 23, when the story doubles back. And to disclaim once more, I still don't own the characters or the franchise. Now enjoy, and remember that all feedback is appreciated!

**-- AND THIS IS MY BELOVED --**

"You don't have to worry any more," he tells her, and he's just as wonderful as she remembered.

Like two pale butterflies, Kraehe's hands lift almost of their own will, and reflexively press over her heart. This is her Prince, she remembers. This is the first time she ever heard his voice, when it was as steady and soft as the light. If only she could hear him speak to her like that again, free of mocking scorn, cutting cruelty, and the frightening sounds of growing madness. At that thought, her hands lock tightly over her hurting heart, and any resemblance to things winged, delicate or free trembles and dies as she grasps hard at herself, and feels her fingers wring at each other. If only her guilty conscience was that easily stifled. Her love twists and burns, and yet can't be held close enough.

She's nothing here but a shadow falling over her own past. She understands that much. She can't touch or change anything, and so she just watches hopelessly, wondering if she should curse or thank the story for being cruel enough to send her back here. Back to a time when she was young enough to believe those words of his, and only had to think of him to feel safe and happy again.

Her heart hasn't visited this moment in such a long time. She trembles, and watches the Prince's strength and grace as he defends her, and winces to see the disbelief in the small girl's face, and then her soft awe. He's so brave and beautiful, and nothing in his gaze seems to see ugliness or evil, or thinks of shutting her out. He doesn't even realize that she too is a crow, and deserves to be slain along with the others.

This is her Prince, and Kraehe can hardly bear to look at him. Yet she looks. Even if it hurts, how can she help but look? She has to see him just one more time, the way he used to be – so gentle, even in his emptiness. Before she took that away from him, she thinks bitterly. Before she changed him and ruined him. Before she stole and poisoned that pure heart, and chose to destroy everything she loved rather than give him up.

It's even worse to have to look at herself, and see the child she used to be. In many ways, the odd little girl in black still hiding behind the Prince's leg and clutching pitifully at his hand is almost a stranger to her now. So much has changed since then. But she can still remember the heart of this frightened and forgotten child so well, and how it overflows with feeling at this moment. How her whole world changes; so suddenly, so completely, and so wonderfully. Most of all, Kraehe remembers what it was like to cling to that soft hand and feeling – for the first time in her life – that simple and unthinking gesture actually being returned. It was warm.

Almost spellbound by nostalgia and regret, she watches as the little girl studies the hand in hers for a moment and then finally lifts up her face to meet his, and stares in pale, wide-eyed wonder. And then, her tiny face _changes_. All the fears in the world seem to drain away from her as she looks up at the Prince, and her young features radiate tenderness and vulnerability. She doesn't dare to smile, but she wants to. He doesn't smile either, but she doesn't mind. Her voice forgets itself and vanishes, too awed to speak, to ask questions, or even to thank him. Her gaze is full of him, and only him, and a hundred old wounds reopen as Kraehe watches this, and there's nothing she can do to keep them closed and safe.

The child looks at her Prince and sees him for all he is, and her eyes quiver with light, and love blooms in her heart. A love, before it becomes entangled in black thorns and soaked in blood. A love that wells up passionately and painfully, that latches tightly, and in an instant turns all her fear and fragility into fortitude. A shining resilience lights up inside her soul, and Kraehe knows that it's something strong, certain and brave – something that will keep her alive and sane and still full of love even in the darkest and loneliest moments of all the years yet to pass. Something to be thankful for even in a moment as hard and terrible as this.

This is the first breath of a hopeless love that will never leave her. This love will only hurt him, and seek to imprison something that should always be free and belong to everyone. But for now, that love is so simple and innocent, and almost beautiful. It doesn't know how she'll betray it.

Suddenly, it isn't the girl who seems a stranger, but her. She's the unrecognizable one. She's the distortion, and she knows it. Once upon a time, this love gave her wings and made her feel beautiful. Now those wings feel heavy and broken, soaked with tears and blood, and somehow she has only herself to blame.

Kraehe watches as the girl's small and solemn face softens and relaxes in sudden and total security, and her jaw clenches and tightens in response, her adult body turning rigid with the agony of her stillness and restraint. All the child's pain seems to lose hold, drift away and settle on her instead, and as the girl's eyes dry, her own begin to burn.

Perhaps this is the moment of her fall, but it's also all she's ever known of grace.

The Prince starts to walk away now, with nowhere to go, and it's too soon. She doesn't want to let him go or see him leave, and the little girl still clings to him for a moment, unsurprised when he leaves her side, but still slow and reluctant to let go of his hand. Kraehe remembers that hand, and how it held hers so many times over the years. How big and strong that hand once seemed closed around her own, and enfolding her tiny grip so gently in the white wing-tips of his fingers.

Her own hand is much bigger now, having grown slender and long-fingered. It feels empty.

As the Prince leaves her behind, the tiny and lonely little girl only stares after him, her big eyes fixed on his back and full of dancing hope. Kraehe sucks in a sharp gasp as she sees the girl's - no, _her_ - small hands flutter up, almost of their own accord, and cross over her chest. It...it looks almost like the mime for love.

And as her Prince approaches and passes her by, Kraehe yearns to stretch out her own empty and aching hand and touch him, just as she did so many years ago.

_Look at me. Love me. Please._

He doesn't see her, and she knows now that he never will. The Prince only walks on, and it barely stings because she's already lost him so many times, but this time the pain she feels is for his sake. He'll never hear her, but her throat still scorches with all her unspoken words. Nothing has changed, she hasn't changed. There's so much she needs to say, and so very much that hasn't been said, in spite of all the years and all her love.

As he leaves both her and the child she used to be, lost in his own emptiness, Kraehe longs to say only one thing. So does the little girl, and their twin hearts cry out the same final unheard plea:

"Don't go."

**-- FIN --**


End file.
